


Her Birthday Present

by pragmatist



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Episode 98, F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pragmatist/pseuds/pragmatist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty simple premise here - Episode 98 just happened.  Lizzie and Darcy are continuing the kissing after the camera turns off, and they decide to take things back to Netherfield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Birthday Present

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so sorry for all this. I know I have two ongoing LBD fics that need updates, but I woke up at 1 a.m. and this thing was rattling in my head, so I had to spit it out if I ever want to get any sleep tonight. 
> 
> I am happy to see that there’s already some new post-98 fic posted; I am dying to read it but I refuse to until this is done. 
> 
> One of my ongoing stories, Not Yet, was written after 97, and has Lizzie and Darcy showing restraint rather than immediately having all the sex. But, c’mon, then 98 happened, and is there any doubt what happened after the camera shut off?
> 
> Smut is not my forte, so please forgive me. I am trying to improve my writing skills, so I am unabashedly funneling all my LBD feels into doing so.

Somehow, they are sprawled on the sofa.  Lizzie’s mind feels all red and foggy, and she can’t quite remember how they got there.  Was there carrying? Pulling, pushing, dragging, falling?  She isn’t sure.  But the reality is that William Darcy’s weight is perfectly situated in the cradle of her thighs, his mouth is doing wonderful things at the base of her neck and his hand is warm and solid and up her shirt.

She knows where this is going and welcomes it – wants it – needs it – needs _him_.  From deep in the snaggle of her brain pops the thought, ‘ _it wouldn’t be the first time on this couch_ ,’ and that unbidden memory is the last thing she wants to intrude on _this_ time, _this_ experience.  She doesn’t want a 3-minute, underwear-around-the-ankles, completely-quiet-because-her-parents-and-sisters-are-asleep-upstairs, unsatisfying fuck with her high school boyfriend to have anything to do with what she wants with William Darcy.

Lizzie wants all of his skin and all of her skin, all out in the open air, meeting at every possible contact point as often as possible.  She wants the freedom to make noise, lots of it, wants to shout his name and God’s name and whatever else she feels like saying, screaming, crying, moaning.  She wants to hear him grunting when he thrusts into her, and roaring out her name when he releases.  She wants to drift to sleep with him sweaty on top of her and not-yet-soft inside her, and wake up to start all over again.  And it’s her birthday, damn it, and she wants at least one really stellar orgasm, one that makes her see bursts of colors behind her eyelids and temporarily lose awareness of her hands and feet. 

“It’s my birthday,” she croaks out in a voice altered by the magic he is doing to her collarbone. 

“Hmmm?” he breaks suction and raises his head slightly.

She is almost lost again at the raw adulation and need she finds in his eyes, but recollects herself enough to repeat, louder this time, “It’s my birthday.” He still looks muddled, until she adds, “You owe me a present.”

He is a smart man, and it takes only a few blasts of his synapses to understand what she is insinuating.  “I will be staying at Netherfield.  I would be so delighted if you would join me there.  And I will be more than honored to give you any birthday gift that you deem… appropriate.”

She can’t help it, she is totally smitten by the cheeky smugness in his face.  Everything about him is adorable and sexy and _hers_.  She clears her throat, and asks, “Do you have…”

“…oh! No!  I didn’t think, never hoped, wouldn’t have been so presumptuous.”

Lizzie was hoping to slip out of the house without seeing or talking to any member of her family, but offers, “I could go ask Lydia…?”

“No!” his cheeks redden.  “There’s a drugstore on the way to Netherfield.  I would rather run in there, than have you, uh, _disturb_ Lydia.”

Mollified at his suggestion, she drops her voice back into husky tones and suggests, “Well then, Mr. Darcy, why don’t we get out of here?”

The family is nowhere to be seen, tucked away in their own private zones.  Lizzie hopes that Charlotte gave Lydia the heads-up about Darcy’s arrival, so that no one will worry about Lizzie’s sudden and prolonged disappearance.

The car ride is heavy with smoky glances and restraint.  He darts into the drug store and returns with two small boxes.  “Two?” challenges Lizzie.  “Mr. Darcy, you ARE presumptuous.”  He raises his brow at her and she replies, “I didn’t say that you were wrong, just presumptuous.”

She visually devours him as they approach Bing’s home, but keeps her hands off.  She feels the passion simmering under the surface of her fingertips, and knows that if she touches him now, they will end up screwing in the car, parked in the driveway.

He is simmering too, and barely has the door closed behind him before tossing Lizzie bodily over his shoulder and starting up the stairs.  She is both stunned and aroused by his show of robustness, and has a flash of herself as Scarlett O’Hara - albeit a Scarlett carrying a small bag full of condoms.

She loves the waistcoat, adores the waistcoat, but it ends up on the floor along with her green blouse and his tie and every other scrap of clothing that was keeping their bodies apart.  He is beautiful, and she tells him so with her words and her caresses.  She can’t imagine ever finding a man who appeals to her as viscerally as he does; it is as if the deepest corners of her soul were tapped so that he could be created just for her pleasure… even the sight of his body satisfies her on some primitive level.

William Darcy is flabbergasted by the vision of the woman before him.  For a heartbeat, he is so overwhelmed by her pale form laid out on the bed that he has to ward off the panicky palpitations threatening to send his chin back into his neck.   He recovers quickly, though, and proceeds to use his lips and tongue and teeth to give the love of his life her best birthday present ever.

She registers with blissful amazement that William Darcy has ‘game,’ -  which isn’t really that surprising since ‘game’ is really just the ability to be receptive to the other person’s needs and wants and act accordingly, and William Darcy knows Lizzie Bennet, knows her as well as he knows his own heart and wants to know her even better.

While she is shuddering still from the aftershocks, he prepares himself and slides over her body.  Her legs are quivering, but strong enough to wrap around his hips as he pushes into her.  Both are so wrapped up in the intensity of the connection; it isn’t the first time for either of them, but it is the first time that the experience is equal parts emotional and physical, as poignant as it is erotic. 

He freezes when it’s ‘William’ and not ‘Darcy’ that bursts from Lizzie as he brings her to the edge yet again with his friction and his fingers, and the word alone brings him to his own end.  He pounds into her twice more before losing himself with a, “Fu- Lizzie!”

Following a cat nap and a second, slower bout of activities, they find themselves ravenous and giggling in Netherfield’s kitchen at two in the morning.  Lizzie gorges on Oreos (which she is surprised Caroline allowed in her home), while William boils some pasta.   He can’t take his eyes off her – wearing his half-buttoned dress shirt, with her hair in frizzy tangles, while she licks cookie dust off her fingertips.  She knows that she is entertaining him, so she pauses to make eye contact. “I love you, you know,” she tells him.  “Thank you.”

He cocks his head.  “For what?”

“For you.  Definitely the best birthday gift ever, and delivered right at my doorstep.”

He has smiled more in the past six hours than he had in the previous six years, so he grins again and replies, “No, Lizzie Bennet.  Thank _you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely a one-shot. Hopefully it satisfies a little bit of the clamoring for "POST 98 SMUTTY FANFIC NOW!" that I keep seeing all over tumblr? I hope it was tastefully smutty; that was my goal. (If you are so inclined, I go by greysfull on tumblr - always looking for other flailing fanpeople to commiserate and squeal with!)


End file.
